


every wave is tidal if you hang around

by wolfhalls



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, First Time, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:22:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27582674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfhalls/pseuds/wolfhalls
Summary: “We’ve really got to ride back tonight,” Din says. “Just tow me back to town, I’ll fix the speeder up, and we’ll be gone.”“You’ll never make it in this state,” Vanth says. “I’ll tow you back to town,” he says. “Then rest up for a few days.”“Vanth-”“Come on, it’s Cobb. You were ready to hand your kid over to me. Call me Cobb.”(or: Din comes to Mos Pelgo, and finds a lot more than he was looking for.)
Relationships: Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth
Comments: 260
Kudos: 1621





	every wave is tidal if you hang around

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quentinknockout](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quentinknockout/gifts).



> well well well. a huge and loving fuck you to timothy olyphant is in order. 
> 
> title is from [king's crossing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LmoPKlWDKRE) by elliott smith. 
> 
> this is for you, jo. a MASSIVE shoutout to roxane too, who held my hand and told me i was valid.

In the grand scheme of things, he’s known Vanth for all of five minutes – but stars, what a time it’s been.

Din’s sore, and he’s heading to that place that’s beyond exhaustion. A bone-deep tiredness, one that only a few days rest will cure. The thought of the speeder ride back over to Mos Eisley makes him wince – but he’ll bear it. For the Child, he’ll bear it.

The Child, as if he can sense Din’s thoughts, looks up at him. Holds out a little hand, and makes a questioning noise. He looks over at Vanth, and Din follows his gaze. A smear of red against the gold of the desert. The Child coos, and taps Din’s arm.

“We can’t,” Din says. “We have to go.”

The Child makes another noise, a sharper one now. It’s amazing how you can argue with someone who hasn’t actually mastered the art of speech yet. He nudges Din’s arm again, works his tiny hand under the cuff of his flightsuit, to the bare skin just above his glove.

“We really can’t,” Din says.

Another noise, this one more insistent.

“Peli’s going to kill me if I don’t get this thing back.” The Child whines as Din gets him settled on the speeder. “Besides. So many places to eat in Mos Eisley. You’ll forget we even stopped here by the time I’ve bought you a bowl of shroomchips. Hmm? Some of that blue milk too?”

The Child is pacified for a moment, and Din uses that as his window to get moving. He climbs onto the speeder, ignoring the twinge in his arm and the way his head spins a little. All in a day’s work. He’ll be fine. He kicks the speeder into action, and-

Nothing. He does it again. Nothing.

He looks at the Child. “If this is you,” he says. “Cut it out.”

The Child just stares at him, eyes huge. The kid’s got Din wrapped around his little claws at this point, but Din can tell when he’s not trying to pull one over on him. He sighs. “Come on then,” he says. “Back to the party. Lets see if someone can tow us back to town.”

Din knows _who_ he’s going to seek out, but he doesn’t need to say that out loud.

Things have certainly picked up in the time Din’s been trying and failing to head back to Mos Eisley. People are roasting the dragon meat on makeshift spits, and there’s music coming from one of the speeder radios. The beat thuds in Din’s ribcage, rattles through this teeth. People are dancing, and laughing, and so Din is able to move through the dark fringes of the celebrations, where his armour barely catches the firelight.

Vanth’s standing away from the fray, leaning against a rock. Din lets his gaze roam for a moment, thankful for the helmet. Vanth is handsome – there’s no sense in denying it. He wouldn’t be the first man that Din’s looked at in this way. Probably won’t be the last. There’s a drink in his hand, but it’s barely been touched. At the sound of Din’s footsteps, he looks up. He grins.

“When I said I hoped we’d see each other again, I wasn’t imagining it would be quite this soon.”

“Neither did I,” Din says. “Speeder’s busted though. Look, I hate to ask this, but-”

The Child squeals, holding his little arms out as far as they can reach. Vanth and Din stare at him. The Child wails again, and doesn’t let up until Vanth takes him. Vanth balances the Child on his hip, and the kid babbles, grabbing at Vanth’s scarf. Vanth smiles – and Din’s heart beats just a little bit faster. “He likes you,” he says, and Vanth breaks the Child’s gaze to look at Din.

“He’s got good taste,” Vanth says. He shifts his weight, giving the Child a surer perch. “You sure you’re okay to head off when we get back to town?” he asks. “You don’t look so good.”

“To be fair, you can’t _actually_ see me,” Din says. His head pounds, and he grits his teeth. Onwards. “It comes with the job.” He steps forward, and reaches for the Child. He stumbles then, and both Vanth’s and the Child’s eyes go wide. Din would curse, except the ground is coming up to meet him just a little too quickly. He steadies himself just in time, boots scrabbling for purchase in the sand.

“Whoa,” Vanth says, arm that isn’t cradling the child outstretched. “Easy, easy.” He closes the gap between them, Din’s head still spinning. “That dragon did a number on you, huh?” He rests his hand on Din’s shoulder. Between them, the Child babbles, and reaches for Din. He settles for a scratch just behind the ear, and coos.

“We’ve really got to ride back tonight,” Din says. “Just tow me back to town, I’ll fix the speeder up, and we’ll be gone.”

“You’ll never make it in this state,” Vanth says. “I’ll tow you back to town,” he says. “Then rest up for a few days.”

“ _Vanth-”_

“Come on, it’s Cobb. You were ready to hand your kid over to me. Call me Cobb.”

Din looks at him, and finds nothing less than absolute earnestness in his gaze. Vanth’s, _no,_ Cobb’s hand wanders from his shoulderplate to where his neck meets his shoulder. Here, he can feel the press of his palm through the fabric. He can feel the heat of it, the urging.

Din sighs. Every part of him aches. He’s forty-four now – hardly a boy any more. It’s not so easy to shrug off tiredness now, and he wakes up sore more days than not.

“I can’t pretend to know where you’re going,” Cobb says. “But tell me. Can it wait a few days at least?”

Din is tired. So, so tired.

“Alright,” he says. The Child smiles.

-

The ride back to Mos Pelgo stretches on, carrying them through a sunset and well into the night. Din holds the Child to his chest, his cloak pulled tight around them. The Child whines, the speeder judders, and Din’s head pounds. He swears under his breath, and the Child lets out a cry. He’s getting irritable, tired and hungry and no doubt overwhelmed. “Shhh, _ad'ika._ Shhh,” Din says, a poor attempt at soothing. “We’ll be settled soon.”

In front of them, Cobb tows them through the desert, the tether between their speeders glimmering in the dark.

-

Cobb’s house is small, and built deep into the ground. Pretty much everyone in the village had insisted that Din stay with them, or offered to take the Child off his hands for a while. Cobb hadn’t even said anything, but Din had followed him without a word, the Child held close.

Now, they’re standing in Cobb’s kitchen, and Din feels himself start to sag. His left arm throbs, and he looks down at it to see that the fabric of his flightsuit is damp with blood. _Huh_.

“Let me look at that,” Cobb says, and Din lets himself be manoeuvred into a chair. The Child curls against his chest, cradled in his right arm. Cobb works silently, unfastening Din’s vambrace and rolling up his sleeve. It’s the quick work of experience. He’s still wearing his gloves, and the leather is warm against Din’s skin. He wipes the cut clean “It’s not so bad,” he says. He runs his hand across Din’s forearm, where the skin is already purpling. Din shivers, unable to suppress it. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since someone treated him like this. Years, probably. The moment stretches on, and on, until it’s so taut with possibility that Din feels something like electricity thrumming beneath his skin.

Cobb clears his throat, and takes his hand away. “You should get cleaned up,” he says. “I’ll feed the little one.” At Din’s silence, he laughs, breaking the tension. “I can cook!” he says. “And babies aren’t such hard work, once you’ve had enough practice.”

“Have you-” Din begins.

“Ah,” Cobb says. “No. Big family, that’s all. Three sisters, all younger than me. Trust me, this little guy is nothing in comparison.” He picks up the Child and lifts him high above his head. The Child squeals in delight. “Go on,” Cobb says. “Fresher’s just down the stairs, and there’s some bacta spray in there. Spare bedroom’s next door. It’s not much, but-”

“It’s fine,” Din says. “Thank you. Really.”

Cobb turns – and Din can’t help but notice how the collar of his shirt sits low on his neck, almost baring his shoulders. Din also can’t help but notice the prongs of a star peeking out above the edge of the fabric. The markings are dark. Scar-dark, the hue of a brand.

He turns, and heads downstairs.

Sonics are never as good as real showers, but those are hard enough to find at the best of times, let alone in a tiny town in the middle of the desert. Din stands with his arms braced against the wall as the pulses roll over his skin, washing away the grime of the past few days. He runs a hand through his hair. It’s getting long now. He’ll have to buzz the lot off when he gets back to the _Razor Crest._ He digs his fingernails into his scalp, and not for the first time, wonders how it would feel for someone to do the same.

When he’s done, he wipes the cut on his arm with bacta. He thinks of IG-11, and closes his eyes.

That night he sleeps curled in a crescent moon around the Child, his back to the door.

-

Din sleeps, wakes, feeds the Child, and sleeps. He’s truly exhausted, his close encounter with the dragon’s insides doing more damage than he thought. The Child is full of worry, smoothing a little hand over Din’s arm. “Don’t heal me,” Din says, three days in. “I’ll be incredibly cross if you do.”

The Child tilts his head to the side, waiting.

“It hurts you,” Din says. “I don’t matter so much.”

Cobb keeps out of their way, for the most part. He leaves food at the door, and Din can hear him moving around the house. Sometimes he’ll be humming in the kitchen, other times pacing back and forth in what Din guesses is his bedroom. Din looks at the ceiling, tracking the sounds of his steps.

After four days, Din can’t stay in bed for a moment longer. His arm is healed, the skin pink and new, and any lingering pain in his body is just about manageable.

Cobb looks up with a start when Din steps into the kitchen, but the surprise on his face gives way to a smile. “He rises,” he says, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. “I was getting a little worried. If the food wasn’t disappearing I would have called a doctor.”

Din doesn’t say anything, just sits down at the table, the Child balanced on his knee. “Thank you,” he says. “For everything. But we really need to g-”

“Not yet,” Cobb says. “Come on. I’ve barely seen you since we got back.” His voice is light, but Din sees the way his hands flex and tense on the table, from tan to knucklewhite in a flash. “Besides,” he says. “Your speeder really doesn’t look in great shape. One of the girls down at-”

Here, Din lets Cobb’s words wash over him. He sits there, in this man’s tiny kitchen in this tiny house in this tiny dustbowl town, and doesn’t try to reckon with any of it.

“-she’ll look at it for you. You’ll be on your way tomorrow.”

Din looks at Cobb. His shock of grey hair, his sure smile, his deep, knowing eyes. He looks, and likes what he sees. This never, ever ends well. He should go, kick up some sand and be gone. Steal a speeder. Be the right kind of reckless.

“Tomorrow,” Din says.

“As the suns rise,” Cobb replies.

-

That night, he and Cobb sit on the porch. A cool breeze rolls through the town, the first of the suns just set and the other low on the horizon. Cobb drinks from a long glass, and Din sits with his hands clasped in his lap. In the house, the Child sleeps.

“You know,” Cobb says. “I never did ask you how you came to find him.”

“Who?” Din says.

“The kid,” Cobb says. “I mean, I’m pretty sure that you aren’t hiding a pair of ears like his under that helmet. So I’m presuming he’s not…”

“No,” Din says. “He’s not mine.”

“But he’s something close now, right?”

Din looks at the vast expanse of the desert stretching out before them. The dunes, endless and formless. “Something like that,” he says. “You wouldn’t believe the story if I told you.”

“Oh I don’t know,” Cobb says. He sets his glass down at his feet and stretches his arms above his head. The motion makes his shirt ride up, just a little. Din doesn’t look. “I watched you kill a dragon a few days ago. I think I can handle some more of your surprises,” he says.

“Let me ask you something first,” Din says. Cobb tilts his head to the side, a wordless invitation. “When I told you to look after him. If that dragon had killed me, would you have done it?”

“Yeah,” Cobb says, without hesitation. “I would have.”

Din feels helpless in the face of Cobb’s absolute earnestness – and yet, he sits there. He sits there, and starts from the very beginning. By the time he’s done, the second sun has set, and Cobb has inched a little closer.

“You say he’s older than you?”

“Yeah,” Din says.

“Older than me?”

“Depends on how old you are,” Din says. He’s not asking. It’s just the turn the conversation is taking, the natural course of the river.

“Forty-nine,” Cobb says.

“Then yes,” Din says. “Only just, but yes.”

Cobb looks inside, back through the open door to where the child is sleeping. “So by the time we’re old men-”

“Don’t,” Din says. He’s thought about this over and over. How the Child is older than he is, but so much younger all at once. How he’ll probably still be tiny and helpless by the time Din is too old to protect him any more. If Din can’t find his people, he’ll have to find someone else to care for him eventually. He wonders if the Child will even be able to remember him, when he’s grown up. Or if all of this will be nothing more than those early days of childhood that are lost to you, nothing more than a snatch of flimsy memories. Will he remember all that Din did for him, in the end?

“Hey,” Cobb says, and he puts his hand on Din’s thigh, spreading his fingers wide. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice soft. “I shouldn’t have.”

“It’s fine,” Din says, half believing it himself. He sits there for a while longer, Cobb’s palm on his thigh, before he goes back inside, leaving Cobb to the desert.

-

The speeder is well and truly busted, by all accounts. The mechanic Din dimly remembers Cobb telling him about, a kid barely out of school by the looks of things, says that she can get the parts. “It’ll be no trouble,” she says. “Not after everything you’ve done for us.”

“How long?” Din asks her.

“I’m heading to Mos Entha in two days. A day there, a day back. Let’s call it a week, all in all. You know, now that sandstorm season’s coming.”

Din did not know that, but he nods anyway.

-

Din falls asleep on the sofa that night, the Child in his lap. He drifts off watching some holodrama, the plot incomprehensible but the Child entertained regardless. He wakes to the sound of footsteps – and his hand goes straight to his thigh, where his blaster would normally be. This jostles the Child, who makes a sharp, irritated noise.

The footsteps, of course, are Cobb’s. He moves around quietly in the dark, unaware that Din is awake. Din makes a show of shifting, stretching his arms above his head. Cobb smiles. “Did I wake you?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Din says. “It’s fine though. I should get up and sleep on something that isn't your sofa. My back will thank me for it.”

“Oh, well. Don’t let me keep you. I’m just heading out.”

Din looks at the clock. “It’s just gone midnight,” he says.

“And I don’t sleep so good,” Cobb says. “So I’m gonna go for a walk, and clear my head, and then I’ll come home and pass out before I even hit the bed.”

Back on the _Razor Crest_ on sleepless nights _,_ Din’s used to walking the length of the galley over and over, the Child held to his chest. He thinks he understands. “Want some company?” he asks.

Cobb’s halfway through pulling a jacket on. He looks at Din through the lock of hair that’s fallen down over his eyes. “Thought you were going to bed.”

“He’ll take a while to settle again,” Din says, nodding down at the Child. The Child, not in the mood to be Din’s co-conspirator, yawns and snuggles close. Din sighs. “Fine. Maybe _I’ll_ take a while to settle again. A walk sounds good.” He hands the Child to Cobb. “I’m going to get my blaster.”

“There’s going to be nothing to shoot except a few womp rats!” Cobb calls after him.

When he comes back to the kitchen, Cobb has fashioned a sling from one of his scarves, and the Child is swaddled to his chest. He stands at the door, face limned in moonlight, and Din’s breath catches. He leans against the doorframe, and takes in the sight for a moment.

“You’re staring at me,” Cobb says.

“You don’t know that,” Din says. He doesn’t deny it. “I could be looking at anything.”

“I can feel it,” Cobb says. Before Din can even come up with a response, he’s jerking his head towards the night. “Ready?”

“Sure,” Din says.

The walk out of town is quiet. There’s a few lights on, the sounds of the town getting ready for bed drifting from the open windows. A baby cries. A woman laughs. The tinny sound of a holomovie carries on the breeze, following them down the street. “Calm before the storm,” Cobb says. “We haven’t had a bad one in a while.”

“Sandstorms?” Din asks, remembering the mechanic’s words from earlier.

“Yep,” Cobb says. “We’re pretty open to the elements here. Those folks in Mos Eisley don’t know they’ve got it so good. Out here, they can take down turbines, blow out generators.” He frowns, and strokes the Child’s ear. “I’ll have to make sure that everyone’s stocked up. Sometimes you have to ride them out for a week. Maybe you can help me, before you go.”

Din knows that when it comes to Mos Pelgo, Cobb’s protective streak runs a mile wide. “Why do you do it?” he asks. Cobb looks at him, willing him to continue with the quirk of his eyebrow. “Put yourself out for everyone else? No one’s going to mind if you-”

Cobb raises a hand to stop him. “This here,” Cobb says. He runs a hand over the back of his neck, almost low enough to press between his shoulder blades. “I know you’ve seen it.”

“I didn’t want to mention it,” Din says.

“But you know what it is?” Cobb asks.

“Yes. I do.” Slave brands vary from planet to planet, sector to sector, but Din’s well-travelled enough to recognise them without any trouble now.

“Well, I’m the only one in Mos Pelgo with one.” He sighs. “Lots of people don’t live long enough to be freed. Even less come out of a shootout unscathed. And no one’s meant to survive three days in the desert with nothing more than the clothes on their back. So that’s three times I’ve cheated dying.” He runs a hand over the Child’s back. “Makes you wonder what I did to deserve it.” He looks from Din to the stars, and back again. “So that’s why I do it. Gotta pay your dues.”

Din doesn’t even know what to say to that, so they carry on walking, leaving the town behind. The desert stretches out before them, from east to west. The sand is struck a blue-silver by the moonlight, and for a moment Din just lets himself drink in the sight. “You’re right,” he says to Cobb. “It does clear your head.”

“Don’t like to brag, but I am full of good ideas,” Cobb says. The Child coos, and he strokes his forehead. “Ain’t that right, little guy?” He goes to turn around, back to town, but Din stops him with a hand on his arm.

“You’re a good man,” Din says, before he can convince himself that it doesn’t need saying – because it does. “You don’t need to prove that to anyone.”

Cobb smiles – and Din will never be able to forget it. That crooked grin, the light of a thousand stars overhead, his child strapped to Cobb’s chest. “Neither do you,” Cobb says. “Guess that makes us a couple of old fools.”

“I don’t know about old,” Din says. That earns him a laugh.

“Fine, fine. You wanna walk a little further then? I can wander for miles, but I don’t want to tire you and the kid out too much.” He holds his hand out.

Din, a fool now more than ever, takes it. Cobb’s eyes widen in surprise, but then his grip tightens.

-

Three days later, a sandstorm hits. The Child is restless, and Din sits up all night trying to soothe him. He rocks him back and forth, walking around the room in circles. He lets the Child gnaw on his fingers, even tries humming to him under his breath. Still, he cries. “Come on,” he says, rocking the Child in the crook of his arm. “None of that.” He can’t help it, Din knows. More than anything, he wishes that the Child could be with one of his own kind, with someone who would know how to make him feel better. Someone who could make this pass a little quicker.

He takes him up to the kitchen, to watch the sand whirl past the window. The Child is transfixed for a minute, and then turns his head against Din’s chest and cries harder. The clock on the wall says that it’s four in the morning.

“Hey,” comes a soft, sleep-rough voice. “Everything okay?”

Cobb is dressed for bed, in a soft shirt and pants that are just a little too short. His hair is sticking up at all angles and, well. He looks good. There’s no point trying to deny it. Din likes seeing him like this – even if the price is an inconsolable toddler.

“Give him here,” Cobb says. He takes the Child from Din, and holds his close. “Come on little guy,” he says. “It’s gonna be alright.” He rubs the Child’s back. “Babies never like sandstorms,” he says to Din. “Apparently I screamed the house down every time one hit when I was a kid.” He looks down at the Child. “Maybe he can hear everything better than us. He’s got the ears.”

“I don’t know,” Din says. “I don’t event know what species he is.” It’s blunt, but his nerves are frayed. He lets his head fall back against the wall, helmet meeting plaster with a dull thud. “I don’t know what I’m doing with him,” Din says. “I have no idea.”

“Sure you do,” Cobb says. The Child has calmed down a little now, his cries quietened down to soft, sniffling sobs. “He’s fed, he’s clean. He’s got someone who cares about him looking after him. He’s safe.”

“Not always,” Din says.

Cobb comes to sit next to Din at the table, the Child on his lap. “From what you told me, a life with you is a damn sight better than where he would have ended up. Besides. You’re not killing dragons every week, are you?”

“You’d be surprised,” Din says.

Cobb laughs at that, sudden and genuine. The Child starts, and Cobb shushes him, the smile still on his face. “You know,” he says. “I’ve never even been off-world. Never set foot off this dustball.”

“That’s worked out pretty well for the people here,” Din says.

“True,” Cobb says. “Still. I’ve always wondered. I’ve never even seen the sea.” The Child squeals, and he laughs again. “That’s right, little one.” He looks at Din. “He’s settled down now. Do you wanna…”

“Sure,” Din says. He takes the Child, who immediately reaches for the bottom of his helmet. “No,” Din says. “Not allowed.”

“You ever get tired of it?” Cobb asks.

A week ago, Din would have taken that for ignorance. Cobb, the man who wore armour that didn’t belong to him, who had no idea how significant it was. Din would have told him that it didn’t matter if he ever got tired of it, that it was a part of him. The Mandalorians took him in when he had no one. None of it boils down to a choice, or tiredness.

“I better get back to bed,” he says instead. The Child wriggles on his lap, making a low little noise.

Cobb takes the blow well, smiling. “Sure,” he says. “Just, you know. Give me a shout if you need anything. I don’t think I’m going to sleep tonight, so. It’s no problem.” He lays a hand on Din’s arm, and runs it back and forth.

Later, Din stares up at the ceiling. Cobb’s footsteps pacing a trail from the door, and back again, and back. He imagines going to knock on the door of Cobb’s bedroom, and Cobb letting him in without a word.

-

Outside of the covert, this is the one of the longest stretches of time Din has spent with anyone. He learns that Cobb takes his caf black, and he only drinks the good stuff that costs a frankly ridiculous amount to import. He leans that he likes to watch old holomovies. He learns that he likes to sing under his breath when he cooks, and he’s prone to falling asleep on the beaten-up sofa in the middle of the afternoon. Din learns these things, and remembers them. In this tiny house, surrounded on all sides by sand carried on the whirling wind, Cobb becomes a person. Din’s never hung around long enough to let that happen before.

“We’ll go as soon as the storm eases up,” he tells the Child one night. “Or as soon as the speeder’s fixed. We’ve just gotten a little sidetracked. That’s all.” The Child makes a noise that translates as _hungry._ He lays a hand on Din’s helmet, patting him like you would an old, tired loth-cat. Din closes his eyes. “Yeah,” he says. “I know.”

-

He’s drifting off to sleep when he hears Cobb shout himself awake. Din’s had a few of those nights. He could turn over and head back to sleep, but something in him urges him up.

(When he was little, he used to dream so vividly and violently that he’d wake up yelling, waking everyone else up in turn. He remembers crying against an older Mandalorian’s chest, the beskar cool against his flaming cheeks. He’d be terrified that they would send him back to bed, where it would all start again. So he’d scream himself hoarse, until he was frantic with it. Until he passed out again, exhausted by it all.)

Cobb’s bedroom door is ajar, light spilling out into the hallway. Din, never one to think things through before he does them, pushes it the rest of the way open. Cobb’s sitting at the edge of the bed, head in his hands. At the sound of Din’s footsteps, he looks up. “ _Shit,_ ” he says. “I didn’t realise I’d woken you.”

“It’s no worry,” Din says.

“No, you had a bad night with the kid the other night. Now I’m keeping you awake.” He runs a hand through his hair, still trying to catch his breath. Din sits down next to him on the bed. “I fucking hate sandstorms,” Cobb says. “This always happens. I’m either sitting up all night or yelling the house down.”

“It’s not your fault,” Din says, as softly as he can manage through the modulator.. For a moment, he almost wishes that he didn’t have the helmet on. That Cobb could see that he means it.

“Still feel like an idiot,” Cobb says. He knocks his shoulder against Din’s. “Bet you weren’t expecting this when you walked into that bar last week.”

“I wasn’t expecting that I’d have to kill a dragon,” Din says. “The rest? It’s all secondary.”

“That’s what I was dreaming of,” Cobb says. “The dragon. Don’t think my mind’s quite caught up with the fact that you got rid of it just yet.” He smooths out the sheets with the flat of his palm, his thumb grazing Din’s thigh. “Is this all normal for you, then?”

“The dragons, or the dreams?”

Cobb laughs. “Both.”

Din settles back, taking his weight on the palms of his hands. “I try not to think about it,” he says. “Any of it. Before, I had jobs to pull off, bounty to collect. Now I have a child. If I stop to think, I’ll go mad.”

“Do you dream?” Cobb asks. He reaches for Din’s hand, turning his body. He’s close, too close. Din doesn’t move.

“All the time,” he says. “I’m just used to it now.”

Cobb, delirious on lack of sleep or just too tired to keep up this strange game of loth-cat and womp rat they’ve been playing at, moves closer still. “Doesn’t anyone ever take care of you, Mando?”

Din’s hand twitches under where Cobb’s palm has it pressed to the bed. “It’s been a long time,” he says.

“Stars, I know the feeling,” Cobb says, and lets out a shaky breath. “Would you let me?” he asks. “Take care of you?”

Din, a fool eternal, reaches for Cobb. Cobb groans, slings a leg over Din’s hip, and pulls him down. He runs his hands over Din’s shoulders, his arms. Din fists his hands in Cobb’s shirt, pushing his fingers up underneath the fabric. He spreads his hands over the flat, almost concave sweep of Cobb’s belly. Cobb groans, and closes his eyes. “Uh, _uh,”_ he gasps. “Shit, you’re so hot. I don’t even know what you fucking look like, fuck-”

“Shush,” Din says. “You’ll wake the Child.” There’s no use pretending that he isn’t lost in it too, and he knows that this is bad. Very, very bad. Still, he doesn’t stop. He’s not running on any kind of experience here, but his body acts on instinct, and it’s as easy as breathing.

Cobb rests his forehead again Din’s helmet. Then, everything goes a little sideways. He runs his hands over Din’s neck, and then they’re travelling up. Up, and up, under the lip of his helmet and- and Din stops dead. It’s an automatic response at this point, pure muscle memory. His hands are at Cobb’s wrist in an instant.

“No,” he says – and he doesn’t mean for it to sound so harsh, but it’s already done.

Cobb flinches, and wrenches his hands away. “I didn’t mean-”

Din sighs. “I know you didn’t. But we probably shouldn’t.” Probably being the key word. Every part of Din wants to. Wants to feel the heat of Cobb’s body pressed close, wants to hear the noises he makes. Din has lived through years of wanting things he can’t have though. He’ll bear this too.

“Right,” Cobb says. He rolls onto his back, catching his breath. “Maybe you ought to-”

“Yeah,” Din says. “I probably should.” He readjusts his armour, already second-guessing himself. Cobb stares at him.

“I wasn’t going to-” Cobb starts. “I wouldn’t.”

Din stands at the door, and sighs. “I know,” he says. The the Child starts to cry, the sound echoing up the staircase. “I should-”

“Go,” Cobb says – and it’s not unkind. That makes it worse, somehow.

-

The storm breaks the next morning, and when Din comes upstairs the sun is streaming in through the windows. The front door is open, and he can hear Cobb speaking in a low voice. Sand spills in across the floorboards, carried by the last of the wind.

Cobb comes back in after a while, barefoot and dressed in green. He starts when he sees Din, as if he wasn’t expecting him to surface until Cobb was out of the way. “You’re up,” he says. “I was just speaking to Tiiona’s mom.” At Din’s silence he continues. “Tiiona. The mechanic. The girl who’s been waiting out the storm in Mos Entha with your speeder parts.” He goes to the counter and pours himself a cup of caf. His third or fourth of the morning, Din bets. He’ll lay credits on it. “Anyway. She’s going to be a couple of days, and then she’ll fix your speeder up.”

“Two days,” Din says, dumbly.

They’re not talking about it, apparently.

“Yeah,” Cobb says. The look he gives him is indescribable. “And then it’ll be just me again.” Din doesn’t say anything, just drums his fingers against the table. His armour feels stifling, all of a sudden. “Listen,” Cobb says. “I’ve got stuff to do. You know-” and here, he makes a shapeless gesture. “-after the storm.”

“Of course,” Din says. “Good.”

“Right,” Cobb says. He looks at the Child, and smiles, not meeting Din’s gaze. “I’ll see you later.”

In the minutes after Cobb leaves, sitting at his rickety kitchen table, Din has the feeling that something is travelling too fast for him to keep up with. A reel of thread, unspooling before Din can get a grip on it. Two days.

Two days.

-

The speeder is covered in sand and half lying on its side, and it takes something close to a monumental effort to right it again. Din feels sweat break out beneath his helmet, and grits his teeth. _Fuck._ There really is no fixing this himself. Not without the parts he needs.

The Child looks at him, fiddling with a piece of metal. “No,” Din says, prizing it from his grip. “That’s sharp. You’ll hurt yourself.” Scooping the Child up in his arms, he looks up the street. The storm has left everything covered in sand, and there’s a person on almost every porch, broom in hand. Din starts to walk, the midday sun at his back. He’s used to people staring when he walks into a bar, so he ignores the looks as he follows the narrow road to the edge of town.

He finds Cobb by one of the generators, hunched over a bundle of wires. His sleeves are rolled up, and the back of his neck has turned red in the sun. He’s talking himself through the repairs, and doesn’t even seem to hear Din approach. Din just stands here and watches the sure motion of Cobb’s hands for a while. His long, thin fingers, his bitten down nails.

“You gonna just stand there and watch?” Cobb says. Ah. Busted. “Or are you going to help?”

“I’m no electrician,” Din says.

“Neither am I,” Cobb says. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be asking you for a hand.”

They work in silence, the Child dozing between them. Cobb’s usual chattiness is nowhere to be seen, and it puts Din on edge. “I’ll be out of your hair soon,” he says.

“You think that’s what’s bothering me?” Cobb says. He reaches for a spanner, mouth set in a hard line. “That I want you gone?”

“I’m not the best houseguest,” Din says.

“Well,” Cobb says. “Unfortunately, I’m going to have to disagree.” He wrenches a piece of sheet metal aside. “But you clearly want out of here as soon as possible, so. Who am I to try and argue?”

Din’s misstep has opened a gulf, apparently. “It’s not-”

“I was happy when the sandstorm hit and you were still here,” Cobb says. “Maybe it’s because I’ve been alone, all this time.” He grunts, pushing an unwieldy wire back into its casing. Suddenly, the generator whirs back into life, and Din can hear shouting from back in the town. Cobb sits back, arms braced behind him in the sand. He’s sweating and sunburnt, and it’s been a long time since Din’s seen anyone so lovely.

“I’m sorry,” Din says after a long silence. “I didn’t mean to-”

Cobb waves an arm, all the fight gone out of him. “I’m just an old fool. That’s all. I don’t even know why I’m saying any of this.” He takes a long swig from his flask, and Din watches his throat work. “I think I’m getting too old. I don’t know if I can do it alone.”

“Me too,” Din says.

“Gets kinda lonely in that house all by myself,” Cobb says. “Like I said. It’s been nice having you and the kid around. I’m sure it’s been a bit more of an ordeal for you, but-”

“It hasn’t,” Din says. “It’s been, uh, a long time since I hung around in the same place for long. That’s all.”

“So the company wasn’t so bad then?” Cobb asks,. He grins, and that look that set Din’s heart racing days ago does exactly the same thing all over again. A bead of sweat runs down his neck, and Cobb’s eyes follow it. He reaches, and Din doesn’t move away. He lets him wipe it away with the pad of his thumb, and tilts his head, letting Cobb increase the pressure. The moment stretches on, and on, and Cobb’s fingers are at his collar now, skirting below the fabric. “Your heart’s beating so fast,” he says, voice low.

“It’s the heat,” Din lies.

“Never seen it bother you before,” Cobb says, pressing his fingers to Din’s pulse point. He settles in close. “I’m going to say something now.”

“It’s never good if you have to announce it.”

Cobb rolls his eyes. “Just let me speak,” he says. “I want you. I think I have since I first met you, frankly. I’m letting you know, in case the feeling’s mutual – and Mando, I think it might be. Judging by last night I’m pretty sure that it is, actually. But you just let me know, alright?”

“ _Cobb._ ”

“Sometimes, you can just let things happen,” Cobb says. It sounds perilously close to pleading. “It’s okay. It’s okay to want something.”

“It’s complicated,” Din says.

Cobb laughs, and presses his fingers up, up, up underneath Din’s helmet, just like he did last night. Cobb’s fingers just trace along his jaw. A featherlight touch. It’s maddening. “Doesn’t need to be,” he says. “We’ve got a couple more days. Then you’re out of here.”

“I don’t want-” Din begins. “I don’t want leaving to be hard.”

“Oh darlin’,” Cobb says – and Din’s heart skips straight to lightspeed at that. “It was always going to be hard.” He moves closer still, knocking his forehead against the side of Din’s helmet.

For a long time they sit like that, half-sprawled in the sand.

Eventually, Din abandons all of his senses. “I want it too. What you want.”

Cobb sits back on his knees. “Oh, thank the stars.” He beams, and it’s brighter than the desert sunshine.

-

Cobb’s needed in town, so Din’s left to twiddle his thumbs. He thinks about spreading his hands over the narrow span of Cobb’s hips, thumbing the jut of bones that he _knows_ he’ll be able to feel through Cobb’s clothes. He thinks about spreading his thighs and letting Cobb settle between them. He thinks about a lot of things, over and over and in absurdly lurid detail. He takes a shower, and thinks about it all some more, a hand snaking between his legs without him really having to think about that.

The Child is being looked after by an old couple across the street, entertained by their gaggle of grandchildren. So there really is nothing for Din to do other than wait. He lies back on the bed and looks up at the ceiling. The shadows on the wall get longer as daylight recedes, and eventually, he hears a key in the lock.

He meets Cobb on the stairs. It’s cool here, in the depths of the house. Nothing like the searing desert heat of earlier. Din doesn’t feel any calmer for it. Inside his gloves, his palms are clammy. Without thinking, he starts to pull them off – and then Cobb’s hands are at his wrist. “Let me,” he says. “Please.”

Din doesn’t say anything, but turns his hands palm up in invitation. Cobb works the gloves off slowly, and then that’s it. Skin on skin. Cobb laces their fingers together, and brings their clasped hands to his mouth. “Tell me you want this,” he says, his lips pressed to the point where their thumbs cross. Din doesn’t move, doesn’t do anything, and then Cobb’s teeth are grazing his knuckles.

Din swallows. “Yes,” he says.

“Okay,” Cobb says. He breathes out a shaky little laugh, and lets their hands fall down between them, still clutched together. “Tell me how it’s going to work,” he says.

Din knows how dark the room he’s been sleeping in gets. He knows that you can hold your hand out in front of you and not be able to see a thing. He’s thought about how this could work in other ways, how they could bend a rule to breaking point. “Lights off,” he says, and he can’t keep the tremor out of his voice.

It takes a minute, and then Cobb’s eyes widen with the realisation. “Oh,” he says, and brings his hands to the helmet, slipping his fingers underneath like earlier. “Really?” he asks. He presses Din against the wall of the stairwell, his body a line of solid, urgent heat. Din can feel it radiating off him through the armour.

“Don’t let me think about it too much,” Din says. He’s already done enough of that himself, but the desire is outweighing the guilt. He’s only human, after all.

Cobb laughs then, the sound echoing. “Come on then,” he says. “To bed.”

-

Cobb shrugs off his clothes at the door, leaving them on the floor while he climbs over Din on the bed, bare and lovely. Din runs his hands from flank to thigh, and Cobb shivers. “Been thinking about this,” he says, and he stutters out a breath when Din gets a thigh between his legs. Din’s half-tempted to just lay back and let Cobb grind it out in his lap, fast and frantic.

He doesn’t. He lets Cobb work off his armour, getting him down to nothing more than his helmet. He lets Cobb rock against him, head turned in to breathe in hot, sharp pants against his neck. He lets Cobb do this until they’re both mad with it – and then Cobb’s getting up to turn out the light, nearly staggering in his haste.

Darkness. Then. Oh.

Cobb finds his way back to the bed, and then there’s a hand at Din’s neck, thumbs rubbing at the line of his jaw. “You gonna let me take this off and kiss you?” Cobb says. His voice is low, and there’s caution there. Din thinks back to last night, where he’d bolted out of the door.

Here, in the dark, Din has to use his words. “Yeah,” he says. He swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. Up to now, he’s been not quite in his element, but relying on some kind of experience.

“Anyone ever kiss you before?” Cobb says. His hands are there on the helmet, ready.

“No,” Din says, because there’s no point in lying now.

Cobb swears under his breath, and then the helmet is off. Every nerve ending in Din’s body _sings,_ and he gasps, letting his head fall back against the pillow. Cobb’s mouth is on his neck, his jaw, and then he’s tilting Din’s head back down. Their noses bump together, and Cobb groans. “Every time you open your mouth,” he says. “You say something that makes me lose my mind.” He kisses Din then – and it’s everything and nothing like he expected. He moves on instinct, and he hooks a leg around Cobb’s waist as he opens his mouth for him, lets Cobb kiss him hard and hot while Din just bucks his hips and moans through it. Helpless to do anything else.

Cobb kisses him for what feels like an age, hands in his hair and grinding down against Din’s dick. He kisses him, and kisses him, and only lets up when he has to gasp for breath, a hand clutching at Din’s shoulder. He starts to laugh, unbelievably. Din feels himself flush, and he’s glad for the darkness then. Only then Cobb speaks, and he’s not laughing at Din. “I thought you’d just forget me,” he says, and he’s moving down, kissing Din’s chest, his stomach, in between words. “I thought you’d just leave and forget me. I don’t think that’s going to be so easy now.”

His hands are at Din’s hips now, and he presses his lips to the top of one thigh, then lower down on the other. “You showered, right?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Din says, just about holding onto the power of speech.

“Fuck,” Cobb says. “Yes, _fuck_ _._ Turn over.”

He gets Din on his front, body flat against the bed and hips tilted up. Din shakes, because Cobb’s going to fuck him now, and this he _has_ done. Only then Cobb’s running his hands over Din’s ass, spreading him open, and-

“Ever done this before?” Cobb asks, his breath warm on the back of Din’s thighs. His mouth – oh fuck. Din knows what he’s got in mind now. He’s read about this; has stolen a look at some holomovies that certainly weren't family viewing now and again.

“What do you think?” Din gasps. His thighs are already shaking, his fingers gripping the pillow so hard he might even tear it. “No one’s-”

“Shhh,” Cobb says. “I wanna make you feel good. You don’t want this, you tell me. We’ll do whatever you want to do.”

Din breathes into the pillow for a moment. “I want it,” he says, and he reaches down to his cock, spreading his legs and waiting for it. Waiting for Cobb to – _oh._ To press his mouth against Din, to lick and push inside, to groan as if he’s wanted to do this forever.

It goes a little something like this: Cobb eating him out until Din’s begging, gasping into the darkness of the room. Cobb fingering him open with nothing other than spit, tongue laving over where his fingers are pressing up and in, groaning. Din feels the sound break like a wave over his body, shaking something loose in him. “You’re going to make me come,” Din says, no, sobs. Cobb’s fingers twist at the perfect angle, and he hums, pulling Din back further against his mouth. “I can’t, I want you to fu-”

Cobb pulls away, and Din paints him in his mind’s eye. Lips puffy, hair in disarray, cheeks flushed. “I’ll get you there again,” he says. “Come on,” and he goes to get back to it, rocking his three fingers and making Din’s hips jerk. “For me. Like this.”

Din’s hand moves over his cock, slicker and harder than he thinks he’s ever been. Cobb pushes his tongue in alongside his fingers, just the tip, and makes a noise like he’s starving, dying, and Din can feel it rising like a tide within him, a steadily building pressure. “Fuck,” he says, and he sits up a little, a hand on the headboard to steady himself. Back and forth, into his grip and against Cobb’s mouth, over and over until there’s nothing else he can do but come.

It’s beyond good, and Din has to bite his lip to stop himself from moaning. Cobb doesn’t let up the whole time, and Din shakes until it’s through him. His legs give way then, and he falls gracelessly onto his stomach. “You didn’t have to do that,” he says – and since when did he sound like that? All hoarse and breathy?

“It wasn’t exactly rough work,” Cobb says. He kisses between Din’s shoulder blades. “Might have wanted to do something like it ever since you showed up.” Din feels the bed dip as Cobb stands up. “I’m gonna get some stuff,” he says. He laughs. “I’m going to break my leg in the dark. But no peeking, right?”

“None,” Din says. He lies there on his front, boneless but not quite sated. Cobb had promised him more. He traces his fingertips along the soft, well-worn fabric of the pillow. He can hear Cobb in the fresher – rinsing his mouth out, rummaging around in the cupboards, humming as he goes. How strange, that over the past few days, those noises of a little house in the desert have become as familiar as the hum of a ship’s engine.

Then, Cobb is back, lying next to him. “Roll over,” he says, his breath tickling the shell of Din’s ear. So Din does, gone now to that place where he’ll bend to someone else’s will, letting himself be shaped into the perfect conductor of pleasure. Cobb settles between his thighs, narrow hips cradled perfectly in the spread of his legs. “This what you want?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Din says. He reaches for Cobb, laying his hand flat over Cobb’s on his thigh.

“You’ve done this before?”

“Yes,” Din says. “Just not like this.” Not face to face, not with a whole night stretching out in front of them. It’s always been rushed before, a hurried means to an end.

“First time for everything then,” Cobb says. He presses his palm to the back of Din’s thigh, easing it up. “It’s been a while for me,” he says, quieter than Din’s heard him all night.

“Me too,” Din says.

“Well, fatherhood is a pretty good excuse,” Cobb says. Din hears him flick open the cap on a bottle then. A moment later, and Cobb’s sinking two fingers into him, and Din stutters out a long breath. He’s so sensitive, and he can’t help the way his back arches away from the mattress. “You feel so good,” Cobb says. “I knew you would.”

“More,” Din says. “Come on.”

Cobb, ever the gracious host, obliges. He gets four fingers into Din in the end, and Din rides his hand until he’s half hard again. He feels the spread of Cobb’s knuckles right against him, his thumb tracing where his fingers are rocking in. He shudders, and fumbles blindly for Cobb’s shoulder. “I’m good. Please.”

When Din first set foot in Mos Pelgo, he couldn’t have imagined this. The feeling of Cobb Vanth sinking into him, inch by careful inch. Din digs his fingernails into Cobb’s shoulders, and tries to keep breathing.

“Oh, oh, _oh,_ ” says Cobb, over and over like a holomovie stuck on the same line. He’s shaking, and Din pulls him down into a kiss, sweeping his hair back off of his forehead. There are many things he’d do to have a good look at Cobb right now, but he settles for the kiss.

Eventually, Cobb starts to move, getting into a sure, steady rhythm. He gets an arm under Din’s thigh, opening him up ever further, sinking in even deeper. Cobb grinds his hips in slow circles, and they both swear. Cobb changes the angle, again and again, until he strikes true and Din cries out. “There,” he says, every part of his body singing with it. “There.”

Cobb keeps it up, and lets go of Din’s thigh so that he can press their foreheads together. “I don’t even know your name,” Cobb says. Din groans.

“Don’t ask me,” he says.

“Why?”

“Because I’ll tell you,” Din says. He cants his hips upwards, hard again after what should be an impossibly short space of time. Still, this whole trip to Tatooine seems to be full of improbabilities. He feels that low, tugging pressure in the pit of his stomach, a deep ache in the cradle of his hips. He’s going to come again – just from this.

“Cobb,” he says, and it’s more of a whine than anything else. “Just like that, please, a little more-”

“Just let it happen,” Cobb says, and his voice is wavering, a contrast to where he’s moving into Din deep and sure. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” He gasps. “You were so quiet last time though. I want to hear you.”

It ends like this: Cobb sucking a bruise onto his neck as Din cries out, a hand twisted in Cobb’s hair. Din’s knees are up around him, the pleasure building, and building. Din’s not quiet as he comes again, his cock jerking between their bellies. He moans low and loud into the darkness of the room, and Cobb fucks him at just the right angle through it.

No. It ends like this: Cobb moving quickly, urgently, chasing his own end now. When it hits, Din desperately tries to focus in the dark, to catch a glimpse of the curve of his mouth or to know where his gaze settled when he came. Cobb’s loud as he comes – of course he is – and he tells Din how good he is, how well he’s done, how it’s never been like this.

“We could have done that days ago,” Cobb says a little while later. He’s lying on his front, an arm slung over Din’s chest. “We’ve been tiptoeing around each other for so long. Gods. If I’d known it was going to be that good-”

“You know why,” Din says.

“Yeah,” Cobb says. “I do.” He pulls Din close, and kisses him anyway. He yawns when they pull apart. “I haven’t slept properly for days,” he says. “But now I feel like I could sleep for years.”

“Go on then,” Din says. The sweat is cooling on his back now, raising gooseflesh in its wake. “I’ll get up and get dressed soon.”

“Not yet though,” Cobb says. He splays his hand over Din’s stomach, runs his fingers through the mess there. “Not yet.”

Din lies there for a little while longer, until Cobb’s breathing has evened out into the slow, soft rhythm of sleep.

-

The Child is playing, grabbing handfuls of sand and letting them fall through his fingers. Around him, the children of the village do the same, the tranquil broken up by the occasional brawl. Din can hear music from further up the street, the tune too faint for him to recognise.

This could be the Child’s life. In a little town in the middle of nowhere, safe from any kind of harm. Cobb already said that he’d take care of him. Din could leave him behind, and pick up his old life from where he he left it in the dust. The Child could be happy, with children to play with and people who already have the barest grip on parenthood. He’d have a roof over his head. Somewhere to call home.

No. Din casts a long shadow, and even that attracts trouble. Sooner or later, someone will hear that a Mandalorian brought down a dragon in the desert. They’ll come to Mos Pelgo, and they’ll tear the town apart all over again. No. He can’t do that. Not to the Child, and not to Cobb. The Child stays with him.

It’s not just them that he couldn’t do it to. Sentiment, or sediment. It’s built and built, these past few months. At first the Child was a burden, but one that Din felt duty-bound to protect. To young to fend for himself but powerful beyond all comprehension. As the months went on though, Din felt something soften in himself. He’d never imagined himself as a father, but here he is. A few years ago, he’d heard a mother talk about her child. ‘You’d die for them,” she’d said. “You’d kill for them. There’s nothing you wouldn’t do when it comes to keeping them safe.’

Din understands that now. He and the Child are bound to each other, for better or whatever lies ahead. They can’t stay here for much longer.

“Credit for your thoughts,” Cobb says, sitting down next to him on the step. The Child looks up at the sound of Cobb’s voice, and yelps, waving his arms in the air.

“They’re hardly worth that,” Din says.

Cobb scoffs, and nudges his foot against Din’s leg. He’s barefoot again, as he always seems to be. “You wanna come inside?” Din looks at the Child, transfixed by a ball the children are rolling in the sand. Cobb follows his gaze. “He’ll be fine out here for a while. The kids love him.”

Din lets himself be led inside, the clamour of the children playing fading as Cobb shuts the door behind them. He leans back against the kitchen counter, rocking back on his heels.

“I have an idea,” he says.

“Yeah,” Din replies. “You’re full of them.” Then he sees Cobb pull a long strip of fabric from his pocket, a scarf that’s seen better days, and his mouth runs dry. “Oh,” he says.

“Any rules against this?” Cobb says.

“Probably,” Din says, taking the proffered fabric anyway. Cobb shudders when he winds it around his head, over his eyes once, twice. A neat knot at the back, and-

“I really am a genius,” Cobb says. “Now, kiss me.”

The armour is left in a neat pile by the door, and they move to the sofa, out of view from the window. The morning sun seems to light Cobb up from within, and he moves so easily under Din’s hands. Back against the cushions, clothes already lost. Din kisses him, straddling him and rocking against him. Cobb gasps against his mouth, hips bucking.

“I want to try something,” Din says. He lifts up, and sinks down to the floor, pushing Cobb’s legs apart as he does. He slings them over his shoulders, and presses his mouth to where Cobb is hard and wanting.

“You sure are a quick learner,” Cobb says, breathless. He jumps when Din presses a kiss to his inner thigh. “Come on Mando,” he says. “Don’t tease.”

Din’s pretty sure that he’s going for marks for participation rather than any kind of finesse here, but he doesn’t let that hinder him. He takes Cobb in his mouth, and moans when Cobb fists a hand in his hair. It takes a few attempts, but then he’s breathing through his nose and running the flat of his tongue up and down, up and down. Cobb’s thighs shake either side of his head, and Din looks up to see his head tilted up to the ceiling. “Yeah,” he keeps saying, over and over. _“Yeah._ ”

It doesn’t take long before Cobb’s fighting to keep his hips still, and the tremors are raging through his body. What does it, in the end, is Din easing a spit-slick finger into him. Cobb damn near wails, and Din thanks every god going that they had the foresight to shut the windows. He wrings it out of Cobb, crooking his finger and swallowing around his cock. It’s the work of a few minutes, but Din’s jaw aches and he coughs when Cobb pulls away.

Doesn’t mean that he didn’t like it though.

“Suns above,” Cobb says, fighting to catch his breath. He’s flushed from head to toe, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He ruffles Din’s hair, then blindly traces his fingers down to his mouth. “Get up here.”

Din lets himself be manoeuvred onto his back, Cobb straddling him. The rolled down edge of a blanket digs into his back, but it hardly matters once Cobb gets a hand on him. He arches into the touch, back bowing away from the sofa. “Please,” he says. Before this week, his capacity for wanting was untested. Now, he doesn’t know how he’ll sate it again.

Cobb brings him off fast and hard, running his thumb over the slit of Din’s cock. Din bites his lip, and pulls Cobb close. It’s too hot in here, the heat already building to the midday peak. Still, Din hooks his leg around Cobb’s hips and bucks into his hand, over and over until he comes. He whines through it, shaking.

After, they lie there, sweaty and out of breath. Din’s knees hurt from kneeling on the floor, and his back aches from the awkward angle they’ve found themselves twisted into. Still, Cobb’s breath against his neck tempers it. He runs his hand over Din’s nose, down to the bow of his lips.

“Handsome,” he murmurs. Din goes to disagree, and he shushes him. “Don’t,” he says. “I haven’t had sex with anyone in years. Let me work on my lines.”

Din laughs, and it builds until it hurts. The kind of deep, satisfied ache that feels like someone has wrung out a sponge in the hollow of his chest.

-

The speeder takes all of half an hour to fix. Tiiona swaps out the broken parts for new ones, letting the Child examine them as she works. Din stands in the doorway and watches. In the distance, the two suns hang low in the sky.

Cobb helps him load the speeder up, armour and all. “I’m going to miss this,” he says, securing the helmet in place. “But I’d say a dragon’s head is a fair price.”

“Come with me to Mos Eisley,” Din says. If it sounds a little hopeful, Cobb doesn’t say anything. “I’m sure you can find something else there.”

Cobb looks out across the horizon. “No,” he says after a while. “I think that’ll only make it worse.” He coughs, and looks away for a second. When he looks back at Din, he’s just about righted himself. “Like I said before. Three times lucky. I think I’m on a winning streak.”

“You’ll take care of yourself though?” Din says. “Not just the town. You.”

“I’m not even going to point out the irony of that statement,” Cobb says. He looks down at the Child, tugging on the edge of his trousers. “Besides,” he says, picking the Child up and lifting him high above his head. “I’m going to miss this little one the most.”

“Careful,” Din says. “He’s just eaten and I want him to sleep while we ride.” He reaches for the Child then, and for a moment he and Cobb cradle him between them. Cobb runs his palm over the back of Din’s hand, and then he’s letting go. Din gets the Child settled on the speeder, and then turns to face Cobb again.

“Let me know where you end up next,” he says. “Send me a holo, or just-” and he presses close again, forehead against Din’s helmet. “Just come back. When you can.”

“I’ll try,” Din says, his hands at Cobb’s waist. “I will.” The sun is rising now, and it’s now or never if he wants to make the Tusken camp by nightfall. He pulls away from Cobb, and it’s a wrench, just as terrible as he thought it would be. He swings a leg over the speeder, and this time, when he kicks it, it starts to thrum.

Cobb lays a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll see you again,” he says.

Din stays there, letting the moment stretch on. Then he turns, twisting his hands on the handlebars. “Come on kid,” he says to the Child. “Let’s get back to it.” He spares Cobb one last glance over his shoulder. “You know,” he begins. “It wasn’t yours. But you wore it well.”

Cobb smiles, the silver of his hair catching in the low, building sunlight. “Go,” he says. “Stop stalling.”

Din looks to the road ahead, the never-ending spread of the desert. The speeder hums underneath him, and then lurches forward, onwards.

He rides on, and doesn’t look back.

**Author's Note:**

> if you made it this far, thank you SO much for reading. you can find me on tumblr @mantelpieces :)


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